Between the Scenes
by Team NAO
Summary: After a vicious falling-out with Alberto over the summer that only worsened during the fall events, Phil was at his wits-end with the Aristocrat. This was until a chance encounter with the Celtic Warrior gave him the perfect distraction from his issues.
1. Getting Even

**Disclaimer: Neither author owns anything affiliated with WWE.**

**A/N: This story is more of a shits-and-giggles kind of thing. Any and all flames against our pairings that we've chosen will be ignored. This fiction will also contain violence (of course), yaoi pairings, and harsh language.**

**Also: Literal translations of foreign phrases are going to be used in this story. If there's something wrong with the translation, please let us know!**

**Takes place during the 9/26/11 episode of Monday Night RAW's match between John Cena and Christian and will continue from that point.**

"You look like a clown!" the heavily accented voice of Alberto Rodriguez came over the microphone system.

"I look like a clown? You're half-naked!" the thick voiced complaint of Phil Brooks argued. "Thanks for dressing for the job," he muttered darkly.

All the commentators at the table went back to watching match that was unfolding in the wrestling ring. Comments on the goings-on were thrown around as the match continued. Soon the topic of the upcoming Pay-Per-View match, Hell in a Cell, was brought up once again in the rapid conversation.

"It doesn' matter if I haven' been in the Cell before," Alberto bit out at Phil's blatant verbal attack. "I'm still gonna kick your butt." He would have said more, provocative, insults but since it was a program for "PG" audiences, he bit back on the vulgarity.

"Kick my butt?" Phil muttered again, half distracted by the fight scene before him, and half distracted by Alberto's insults. Though he knew that the conversation needed to be kept clean, he couldn't help but think that Alberto sounded a bit childish.

As the match continued to heat up, the commentators discussed the previous Hell in a Cell match Phil participated in and the inexperience of Alberto.

"The hell is for this bunk," He gestured toward Phil, "And that clown John Cena," the Mexican aristocrat spit out as the insults continued to flow from his rival's mouth.

"Did he just say 'bunk'?" someone whispered into the microphone.

"I think he meant bum," someone else answered.

"Who cares?" Phil responded, watching Christian slide from under the ropes of the ring in order to get away from Cena, "He sounds like he has marbles in his mouth any—"

Causing much chaos and confusion, as well as interrupting Phil's offensive statement, Christian was suddenly slugged across the face by Cena (who had followed him out of the ring). The blonde's body fell roughly against the announcer's table, knocking everything off of it, including Phil's soda.

Livid that, yet again, his drink had been spilled, the Straight-Edge Savior glared at the offender. Forgetting the animosity he had felt toward Alberto, he said, "_AGAIN?_ You spilled my drink again!"

John merely looked annoyed at the statement, thinking the tantrum was rather childish in comparison to the current issue that he himself had caused.

Before anymore words could be exchanged, however, Alberto broke up the stare-down with a swift punch to the side of the unguarded Phil. The strike caused the shorter man to fall to the floor, and the assailant took the opportunity to jump into the ring with Christian and Cena.

Enraged at being so roughly assaulted while his guard was down, Phil picked himself off of the ground with the full intent on payback. He charged forward furiously and practically dove under the ropes, but was too slow. Alberto had noticed the smaller man's abrupt appearance and made a quick escape out of the other side of the ring, leaving the offended man to stare in disbelief, hanging onto the ropes.

After Alberto's departing speech, which was taken more as a threat than anything else, Phil stormed backstage as the show cut to commercial muttering every obscenity he could think of as he clutched his announcer's jacket. All the tension he felt had nothing to do with the show or his upcoming match; the man that he would be going up against here shortly was his real problem.

Their particular situation had slowly spiraled out of control ever since Alberto had traded in his _Money in the Bank_ suitcase. However, even before then the issues and tension between the two superstars had been building on a personal level.

The Second City Savoir had worked his ass off to obtain and keep the WWE Champion title, only to have it taken by Alberto, whom he had been very close with. Of course Phil couldn't exactly blame the other man, since he—himself—had done it twice. However, the fact remained that the pivotal moment had driven an even bigger wedge in their relationship. It was at that point that The Best in the World superstar had decided to split ways and focus more on his upcoming matches and future storylines than trying to stay friendly with his now-enemy.

Obviously, the split did not bode well with the Aristocrat, the recent unexpected drama being a prime example of the animosity each man felt toward each other. Anger dangerously flared once more as Phil trudged down the main corridor of the arena's backstage area, taking special care to try and avoid any and all people who come up to him.

Naturally, they were rather curious as to how he was going to deal Alberto's assault. Of course, the Voice of the Voiceless bit back with nothing more than a "Watch the damn match and you'll find out."

He approached a corner at the end of the corridor, which split into two opposite directions, hoping that the next would grant him the solitude he so craved. He needed to come up with a game plan for how he was going to exact his revenge without any distractions.

Unfortunately, this was not so. As he chose to turn right, his eyes locked on the very _last _person he needed to see: Alberto himself, along with his ring announcer, Ricardo Rodriguez. Phil involuntarily dipped out of the two others' line of sight, fighting back the urge to go on ahead and just attack. Though he hated the thought of hiding, he figured the best sort of revenge would be to put the bastard to shame in front of millions of viewers, rather than in private.

He looked behind the corner. Neither men had moved, but seemed to be talking rapidly in Spanish. Any other time, the strange, flowing, energetic words would have been rather attractive (as is the tall, tanned man speaking them); now, however, all he could do was look on in sheer loathing.

"Usted sabe que el señor Brooks no tendrá su asalto a él a la ligera," Ricardo said, looking rather nervously up at Alberto, as if trying to be careful of his words, "Él va a tratar de ser embarazoso."

"Of course," Phil muttered under his breath. He had a feeling that they had to have been talking about him, now he knew it since his name was mentioned.

"Él sabe que no puede ganar contra mí," Alberto replied confidently, "Voy a aplastar el culo escuálido en el lienzo."

Having heard enough gibberish, Phil gave up eavesdropping and angrily rounded the left corner. He had at least hoped to hear any covert plans that Alberto had for the match; he should have known, however, that the Aristocrat was too crafty to divulge his plans in English, where he could be understood.

As he walked, he was sure this direction had a few staff-oriented rooms, which meant that he was almost guaranteed quiet. He found a room empty of any coliseum staff; judging from its interior, it seemed to be some sort of break room.

Finding a spot to sit, he was finally able to recollect his thoughts. It was no lie that Alberto was quite the aggressive fighter, specializing in holds and throws to gain the upper hand. Because of his—Phil's—own fighting style (using limb-strikes and submissive maneuvers), it was very hard to compare the two very different fighting styles.

He propped his elbow on the table and held his chin in his palm, staring absently at the white refrigerator directly ahead of him. He had so much on his mind already, what with past events, as well as the day's events. He found himself almost regretting starting anything with Alberto…almost.

"Dammit!" Phil cursed, slamming his fist upon the table, almost hitting a nearly-dried catsup stain left behind by the room's previous occupant, "I need to focus on the match, not sentimentality."

His eyes had never left the spot they chose to linger on, which gave him an idea. He thought that if he perhaps got himself something to eat real fast, his mind would be clearer. After all, he hadn't eaten in hours.

He strode over to the refrigerator and opened it; he scowled at the lone, half-empty bottle of orange soda then closed the door. He gave the freezer a try, only to find that there was nothing but two half-filled ice trays inside.

Pushing the trays aside, he couldn't help but smile at the sheer luck that had fallen over him. Behind them, he had found a single box holding the very ice cream bar that he had requested the return of a month before.

Upon withdrawing the small box from the freezer, his face fell slightly. On the box's cover was none other than John Cena. _Why him? _he thought.

"Oh well," He said, tearing the box open, "Beggers can't be choosers." He withdrew the bar, barely taking taking notice of the figure stamped on the vanilla cookie wafer's side, and bit down.

"Hey, you!" Came a loud, sharp barking voice that startled Phil so horribly, he nearly dropped the ice cream, fumbling it in his hands.

"—The fuck?" He whipped around, ready to bust the face of whoever decided to ruin his moment of bliss. He found himself facing Stephen Farrelly, the last man he'd expect to confront him.

"How did you find me here? What do you want?" The Straight Edge Savior demanded, not bothering to mask his displeasure.

"I'm not lookin' for you," Stephen responded, voice thick from his Irish accent, as if the notion were absurd, "I'm lookin' for _that, '_cause it's _mine._"

"Yours?" Phil replied with a small laugh, "Oh well, finders' keepers!" He ended his statement by running his tongue along the bar's length, "I'm sure you don't want it now, do you?"

The taller man folded his arms across his broad chest, "You strive to make yourself out to be a real bastard, don' you? Tha' was my last one I was saving, y'know. 'Swhy I hid it."

"Oh, well! How sad for you that you'll have to miss out." The dark-haired man laughed once more, followed by taking another bite. He had no idea why he chose to tease someone whom he had never really had an issue with, but that didn't mean it wasn't amusing.

Stephen, however, was rather confused about the actions of the man before him. He knew that Phil was notorious for his little games, but he figured it was all an act. He himself could usually take insults with a grain of salt, but he just so happened to not be in the best of moods, and this guy's antics weren't helping.

"Just gonna stand there and watch?"

The words broke the Celtic Warrior from his reverie, but he was soon able to gather his thoughts rather quickly. "No," He said, "I'm gonna take back what's mine."

Phil's lips upturned into a sort of smile, very much amused by Stephen's nerve. "Do it," He said lowly, daring the taller man to try and come for him. Once more, his tongue snaked the length of the bar, this time on the side exposing the vanilla ice cream between the two wafers.

Stephen's blood boiled at the suggestive, brazen behavior and something snapped inside of him. He lunged forward and gripped Phil by the shoulders, backing him up against the refrigerator. The poor machinery groaned under the sudden pressure and tilted back slightly.

The younger man used his free hand to press against the older's shirted chest, countering the pressure of the body trying to push him against the unsteady refrigerator. He looked up at his aggressor, glaring insolently into blue eyes.

"Fuair mé rud éigin cosúil mé níos fearr a," Stephen muttered fluidly in Irish. He bent down slightly, mouth spreading into a grin before pressing them against the other's.

Phil couldn't believe what was happening, and now he was the one who was confused. He initially made a noise of protest and tried to shove the taller man off of him, using both his hands and managing to get melted ice cream on the black shirt. The act however drove him further onto the fridge, and it threatened to tilt once more.

Instead of taking the hint, the Warrior pressed more assertively, letting his tongue slide through the other man's lips, brushing against the lip ring. Phil's body tensed involuntarily at the intrusion, however, and broad hands gripped his shoulders more firmly. He did not expect this sort of behavior, but he found himself relaxing slowly, somewhat reluctantly allowing Stephen's tongue all the way into his mouth. He let his arms slip over broad shoulders, the ice cream he had nearly forgot he had dangling and melting dangerously onto the taller man's back.

Stephen had only just enough time to enjoy the slightly cool feeling of Phil's mouth, as well as the taste of sugar remnants before his ears picked up the sounds of echoing footsteps from the hall beyond. The Straight Edge Savior seemed also to pick up on the noise and successfully managed to push the older man off of him just as the owner of the footsteps came in.

A thin, mousy stage-hand stood in the doorway, looking at the heavily-melting ice cream in Phil's hand, then to the stains on Stephen's shirt.

"What?" Phil said, glaring at the intruder.

"I was asked to come get you," The boy said, "You're on in, like, a minute."

"Are you fucking serious?" the stage-hand's quarry shouted, followed by an accusatory glare at his distraction, "Here!" He pressed the runny food into Stephen's hands, and walked after the stage-hand.

The deserted man could only stare blankly at the doorway, ignoring the dripping substance in his own hands, mind still reeling over what had happened mere moments ago. He honestly couldn't figure out what had gotten into him.

Meanwhile, Phil strode down the hallway, ducking quickly into a bathroom to wash his hands and face free of ice cream and to hopefully clear his mind for the match. He knew he was to win the match, but he always made sure to put on the best performance possible for the audience. Of course he knew his opponent, Alberto, was in the same mind set and they always did their best to make a great show but that was before things had gone south between them.

He slicked his hands through his hair, out of nerves and habit, as he continued down the hall. As he neared the entrance to the main stage, he heard his song play loudly throughout the arena and he jogged towards the entrance. The cheering crowd was already deafening and as he entered the arena area he did his usually entry, however, upon seeing Alberto in the ring waiting for him Phil felt all the hatred flow back into him. As he approached the ring, he yelled up at his fighting partner hoping to get the aggression and tension between them thicker than it already was.

When he slipped into the ring, he noticed Alberto's back was to him and went to charge him but the referee held him back. He had gotten the attention he wanted, though. Alberto was now facing him, and he continued to throw insults at the Mexican. Unfortunately it didn't last long as the ref pushed him back and berated him. Phil brushed the man's words aside and stripped his shirt, throwing it over the rope before Alberto tossed his scarf in the same direction.

The match soon started, and as he heard the name John Cena cut through the air, a wave of frustration shot through him. Using the fuel he quickly took control of the fight and easily defended against the few attacks Alberto put up all while giving his best offense. He finally gained complete control of the match, throwing the larger man through the rope and onto the ground. Climbing through the ropes himself, he prepared himself for the elbow drop he was about to execute and take the fight to the ground for a bit. Once on the ground, he picked Alberto up so he could knee him the stomach.

The impact sent the taller man reeling towards the commentator's desk, and Phil was quick to pull the man back towards the ring.

However, before pushing his opponent back into the ring, he quickly turned and threw the man at Cena. In a way, it was the WWE Champion's fault for all the stress and tension that he had been going through lately, and it felt good getting a jab in any way he could.

Before going to retrieve Alberto, Phil sarcastically saluted Cena as he was now standing and seemingly preparing for an attack.

The match continued on much the same, with the same tension and fueling of frustration. After Phil had pinned Alberto and won, the cage that had been dangling above their heads slowly started to lower. The Second City Savoir clenched his teeth as Cena made his way towards the lowering cage, trapping Alberto's man-servant, making escape impossible.

Once the cage was completely lowered, the two superstar wrestlers proceeded to take turns picking on Ricardo. They took great joy in punting the well-dressed fellow across the ring, taking advantage of his vulnerability.

The fun was short-lived, lasting until Alberto reappeared with a chair in hand. He wreaked havoc upon the other two men until the cage was eventually lifted back up. The Mexican Aristocrat escaped muttering Spanish under his breath as the other two men in the ring writhed and moaned in pain.

After the show went off-air, Phil pulled his aching body off of the mat. Thoughts began to occupy his mind once again as he headed backstage, ready for a shower and relax for what little time he could find. He was still completely confused over what had happened in the break room for several reasons. The main reason for his confusion, however, was that he knew Stephen and Mike Mizanin were in a relationship. This bit of knowledge begged the question: why was the Celtic Warrior coming onto him?

He quickly banished the thought as he continued down the crowded hallway. It wasn't his problem if Stephen was cheating, or rather why he was doing it. The only problem he should have with the issue was if he would pursue it or let it happen again. He had to admit that he was quite intrigued by the taller man's advances, but he wasn't really looking for more trouble than he already had. Perhaps what he really needed to do was find Stephen and figure what just what the hell was going on.

Deciding he needed a quick shower to get the smell of sweat off him, Phil headed towards the shower area before making his way back into the locker room portion. Later, with only a towel wrapped his waist, he moved over to his chosen locker and started getting dressed while ignoring the other men in the room. That was until Stephen walked into the room—the man already dressed in his casual wear. Phil was a bit surprised when the man sat down on the bench a few feet away from him. Hazel eyes met blue before he pulled the shirt over his head.

"I was wonderin'," Stephen started a bit slowly, his hands clasping together, "if ya'd like t'go out."

"Out?" Phil repeated in surprise at the abruptness of the question. He and Stephen were not on bad terms by any means, they've just never considered each other friends; now the guy was giving out surprise make-out sessions and dates. Still Stephen couldn't be discredited yet; the intentions might be more innocent than just previously thought.

"Where to?" Phil asked with an obvious tone of suspicion.

The Irish man looked back up at the question and shrugged, unaffected by the younger man's biting tone, "Wherever y' want."

"Well, I-," Phil started, looking away from the anticipating stare of the man next to him. Suddenly, a rather loud sneeze took his attention. His gaze was met with none other than Alberto himself. The air seemed to be electrified with tension; how much had he heard? How would he take Stephen's offer? The Straight-Edger didn't want to see the drama that would unfold if he decided to answer "yes", and Alberto was quite notorious for being dramatic.

Remembering that he indeed didn't answer Stephen's question, he turned to the man and quickly said, "I'll have to think about it."

Stephen looked a bit put off, but then nodded his understanding. It was quite obvious that now was not the time, anyhow. Phil's eyes lingered on the retreating body for a moment before turning back to the scowling man he was previously conversing with.

"I don' like him," Alberto grumbled moodily, "He's weird and talks funny."

"You are weird and talk funny," Phil replied nonchalantly as he turned back to what he was doing before Stephen had appeared, "Like I give a shit about your opinion anyway."

The taller man huffed. "What a surprise," he laughed out sarcastically. "This _mal criado _cares for only himself."

A long suffering sigh escaped Phil's lips as a hand rose to rub at his forehead. He really didn't want to get into an altercation with all the prying eyes and ears, but he knew Alberto wasn't one to back down. "Well you certainly seem to have your information correct. So why don't you just leave me the fuck alone."

"¿Por qué no te vas a saltar a un río desde un puente alto?" Alberto shouted after Phil, who was pointedly ignoring him and leaving the crowded room with his belongings gathered in his arms, "You didn' even win!" He called in a final attempt to gain attention.

Phil stormed down the halls in a worse mood than ever. He very much wanted to go back into that room and deck the shit out of Alberto, but he felt that there needn't be anymore drama between them until their next fight. He had heard the Aristocrat's last sentence, and he honestly didn't feel like being reminded of his loss.

He stepped through the doors that led to the secluded parking lot for the wrestlers and employees. He walked across the pavement and to his own rental car and placed the objects in his hands inside the back. He rose up to shut the door and move on to open the driver's side door when he had spotted someone a few cars down.

"Shit," He swore, recognizing the figure as Stephen. Remembering the question he needed to answer, he shut the door and walked briskly over to where the taller man stood.

He tapped Stephen on the shoulder, startling him. The tall form wheeled around, fist ready to fly when he noticed the person requesting his attention. "Sorry 'bout that, fella," He said, laughing ruefully.

Phil was lifting his hands up in an attempt to block, but upon hearing the apology he chuckled. "I wouldn't blame you," A genuine smile was spread across his features, "Because I'd have done the same thing." After all, he knew how much of a pain fans and staffers could be.

"T'be honest, I wasn't expectin' you," The taller man responded; though the tone was pleasant, Phil couldn't help the miniscule pang of guilt he felt for nearly brushing the man off.

"Almost slipped my mind that I was supposed to meet you in the first place, no thanks to…"The shorter man brushed off the end of his sentence with a wave of his hand, "Doesn't matter. Anyway, did you still want to do something? Or have you changed your mind?"

Blue eyes widened a bit. "Sure, I'm still up for it. Do y'have a place in mind?"

Because the Sprint Center was in Missouri's Power and Light district, they decided to walk to wherever they chose to go, instead of driving.

"Nope," he answered simply. "We could walk around the district, that way we don't have to worry about driving anywhere."

Stephen took a minute to think it over before answering, "Alright."

The two men headed towards the exit of the parking garage to get out into the night air. Regardless that it was a Monday night, the Power and Light District of Kansas City, Missouri was brightly lit and bustling with tourists. The pair easily slipped into the crowd without being noticed and crossed to the street lined with bright lights, bars and expensive restaurants.

Phil stole a glance over at the man walking next to him. They hadn't spoken much since they've started walking together, and frankly, he was surprised that Stephen didn't bring up earlier yet. He didn't know if Stephen had thought about the encounter any, but he himself sure had. He wanted to clear the air, because he had to know what was running through the Celtic Warrior's mind, if anything at all.

"So, Stephen," He began a little awkwardly, nearly running into the taller man in an attempt to dodge a passerby who was walking in the opposite direction, "About earlier, in the break room…what was that?" He looked over once more, to see if his question had been heard.

"I wanted to," Stephen replied plainly, "Y'took somethin' of mine, so I decided to take somethin' of yours."

"But that doesn't make—you wanted to?" The younger man stammered, clearly confused by the other's response.

"You weren't complainin' before, and to be honest, I liked this meet much better than the last one we had."

"Last one…?" Phil had to take a moment to recall what Stephen was talking about, "You don't mean that whole thing about Cena being a jack-ass to you, do you?"

"Ar, that's the one," The Warrior replied. He drew himself up proudly and said, "It's good to be king."

The Straight-Edger chuckled lightly at the last remark; the whole king scenario was rather silly, after all. "If you don't mind me asking," He began, "Weren't you talking to Mike?"

"Bah, forget about 'im," Stephen said dismissively, "He's like a child, anyhow, what with 'im gettin' fired an' all."

The shorter man nodded, knowing exactly what Stephen was talking about. He'd known Mike for a good five years and considered the man a friend. "So," Phil started up again, "what happened earlier was just payback?" he asked curiously.

Stephen looked over at the shorter man curiously. "Do y'want to be more? You and that Alberto fella are on the outs, if I'm not mistaken."

An eyebrow cocked as a smile passed over Phil's lips, his lip ring gleaming in the lights. "I should warn you that 'Berto has a bit of a possessive streak." The statement only seemed to make Stephen laugh rather smugly.

"I'm not scared of tha' man," He said, "Or anyone else for tha' matter."

As the pair came to an almost standstill, their laughter was interrupted with a tap on the shoulder. Stephen turned around to meet the face of a younger-looking woman with goldenrod colored hair.

"Aren't you…that wrestler dude?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

Stephen and Phil shared a brief glance that could only be interpreted as one thing: _oh joy, fans._ Still, they couldn't be out-right rude to her, well Stephen couldn't; Phil on the other hand, couldn't care less, considering he already had a reputation for being quite the jerk at Starbucks.

"Yeah, one of 'em," The taller man responded, smiling awkwardly. He stuck his hand out, "Sheamus," He said shaking the woman's hand.

"I thought so!" The blonde said excitedly. To Phil's displeasure, she faced him, "And you're that straight-edge guy, right?"

"I am," Phil replied curtly, annoyed at being called "some guy" and not by his name. He placed an arm around Stephen's shoulders, "And we're very busy and must get going," He wheeled the taller man around, leaving the blonde severely disappointed, and they continued walking in the direction they were going previously. His hand slid down from the shoulders, thoughtlessly brushing against the toned muscles with his fingertips.

They walked the entire block, thankfully without any more encounters with star-struck fans. The leisure amble down the multicolored street seemed to last ages as they talked about WWE politics, old matches and wrestlers, and a bit about personal life. Eventually, they found themselves back at the Sprint Center, where they first began.

Both men stood awkwardly beside Stephen's car, each waiting for the other to speak, or act, first.

Stephen was first to speak up, "I guess I'll see y'Sunday, then?" He asked, shifting his weight from one leg to the next.

"Yeah, I believe so," Phil replied, smoothing a hand over his sleek hair. A thought struck him, and he couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I meant to ask you, why are you still wearing this here?" He reached out and took into his hands the huge, gleaming cross-shaped charm that usually Stephen wore with his wrestling gear, "You look kind of ridiculous walking around with it on."

"Oh!" Stephen responded, looking down, "I s'pose I forgot tha' I had it on."

"I don't see how you could forget you're wearing a gaudy thing like this," Phil said quietly as he turned the cross in his hand, twisting the heavy chain it was hooked onto, "But I suppose if you're so used to wearing it anyway…"

He let his sentence die out and looked up at the man before him; no more words were shared between them. They were aware of their closeness, but neither seemed to mind. In a daring act, Phil tugged the chain, drawing its owner nearer to him. As if they had planned it all along, their lips met for the second time that day. This time, however, there was no hesitation; their mouths opened, but didn't separate, allowing their tongues to meet.

As their fluid, natural high-inducing movements intensified, Stephen's heavily-muscled arms circled around the younger man's waist, pulling the body as close to his as possible. Phil, however, knew that there was a chance that things between them might progress entirely too quickly, and he still didn't know Stephen well enough to roll around under the sheets with him. He then slowed his actions and eventually pulled away, not wanting the end to be abrupt, so as to save from things being anymore awkward than they already were.

"I believe we're even now," he said, wiping a bit of either his or Stephen's, he didn't know, saliva from his mouth. His eyes caught sight of the larger man's tongue darting out causing him to smile again.

"For now," Stephen finally replied, his hands still resting on the smaller man's hips.

Phil's head tilted to the side, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Is that a threat or a promise?" He wasn't exactly sure where he wanted things to go with the Celtic Warrior, being that their encounters were rather random, and both have went through rather ugly break ups, but the thoughts were a nice distraction from his previous problems.

"However y'wanna take it. Either way," His hands slid to rest at his side as Phil stepped back, "We'll both benefit from this."

"We'll have to just see, then, won't we?" The younger man asked, "Unfortunately," He continued, pulling Stephen's hands off of him, "I've got to go; hopefully I'll get a few hours of sleep. Anyway, it was fun while it lasted."

"Certainly was," the Irish man answered, moving to open his door as Phil turned to leave. The events of the evening replayed in the man's head as he settled in the driver's seat and started the automobile. Whatever was to happen Sunday, it was sure to be interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Translations (in order of appearance):**  
>*Usted sabe que el señor Brooks no tendrá su asalto a él a la ligera - <strong>You know that Mr. Brooks isn't going to go easy on you<strong>  
>*Él va a tratar de ser embarazoso - <strong>He will try to embarrass you<strong>  
>*Él sabe que no puede ganar contra mí - <strong>He knows he can't defeat me.<strong>  
>*Voy a aplastar el culo escuálido en el lienzo - <strong>I will crush his skinny ass on the canvas<strong>  
>*Fuair mé rud éigin cosúil mé níos fearr a - <strong>I think I know what I want instead<strong>  
>*mal criado - <strong>Spoiled<strong>  
>*Por qué no te vas a saltar a un río desde un puente alto - <strong>Why don't you jump into a river from a high bridge?<strong>**

**If we missed any translations, please let us know **


	2. Knowing You Better

**A/N: Most of the events in this chapter takes place during/after the Pay-Per-View **_**Hell in a Cell **_**match and continues on afterward. **

**Again, as both authors can only speak English, literal translations of foreign phrases are used. If there are any issues with the phrases, please feel free to correct us!**

**Warning: Strong sexual conduct.**

7/11/11…

"_Let's do this in here," Phil said, leading Alberto by the wrist into an empty room in the back of the arena they were having a show in. He shut the door behind him and advanced toward the taller man. He had just come back to performing due to his week-long suspension concerning his trash-talk of the WWE executives and decided to take the brief yet great opportunity to get the proper "welcome back" that he deserved._

"_But this is John Morrison's room," Alberto muttered, looking around rather distastefully, looking around the brightly-lit room._

"_So?" the shorter man said suddenly from behind the taller, making him jump. "It's not a problem."_

_The Aristocrat didn't turn around, but rather walked forward. "Because he could come in!" he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it was in all honesty._

_Phil laughed derisively. "Who cares?" He shrugged, closing the distance between the two of them, and then teasingly placing his fingertips on the older man's bronzed back, "Fuck it, you know?" He pressed his lips on the crook of Alberto's neck. He felt the body tense under his touch and he withdrew._

"_What's the big deal?" he demanded. "I've been gone for a week, and now that I'm back, you ought to be kissing my feet!"_

_Alberto turned around. "I kiss nobody's feet!" he snarled, offended at being demanded to do something he considered so demeaning. "And secondly, I'm not getting caught in some broom closet—"_

"_It's John Morrison's room, you just said so yourself!" Phil argued throwing his arms out incredulously. "And don't even start going on about how you don't wanna ruin your reputation—or lack thereof, 'cause everyone, the fans, see you as a total asshole!"_

"_But are you not also hated by the fans?" the older man tried to bite back spitefully, only to earn condescending laughter in return._

"_But there's a difference, you see. I don't pretend to not be an asshole, whereas you do." The Straight-Edge Savior smirked victoriously as Alberto looked lost for a clever comeback. "And since you've completely killed the mood for me, there's really no reason for me to continue staying in this room with you." _

_The man's nonchalant attitude was a cause of great annoyance for Alberto. For once, he held his tongue knowing that Phil was purposely acting this way to cause him to rise. He watched the shorter man bow dramatically out of the room, saying something about "your majesty", but he still would not react._

_Meanwhile, Phil smugly walked down the corridor. He had done his job in ruffling Alberto's feathers for wasting his precious time, and was feeling more victorious than annoyed, though he would have preferred things to go in the direction he intended with less fussing and more touching._

"_Phil! Espere un segundo!" Alberto called from behind him. _

_He rolled his eyes and called back, "No comprendo, remember?" He didn't bother to wait to be caught up with and merely kept walking. At the other end of the corridor, John Morrison himself was seen rounding the corner, probably heading to his just-vacated dressing room._

"_You should learn to be more reasonable!" Alberto hissed under his breath when he caught up with Phil._

_Phil ignored the comment, choosing instead to focus on the swaggering figure that belonged to Morrison. "Hey, John," he said in a cheerful tone, clapping the man on the shoulder as he passed. _

_John, thoroughly confused by the man's sudden familiarity and friendliness, looked back with a puzzled look. When the look was returned, the man merely raised an eyebrow, barely visible through the dark shades and kept walking toward his room. _

"_You did that on purpose," Alberto muttered, wishing strongly to elbow the man next to him._

"_And you're a prick-tease, so what's the problem?" came the reply._

"_Why don' you give it a rest, eh?" _

_Phil exhaled loudly; he had to roll the "r" in "rest" didn't he? It was subtle, but still enough to make him momentarily forget what he was holding a grudge for._

"_Perhaps," the Aristocrat continued, "we could meet up after the show, or something, I dunno."_

"Perhaps_," the straight-edger responded, recovering quickly from the mental lapse, "If I feel up to it by then, or haven't found someone more interesting." He cut his eyes sideway at the taller man, who pointedly refused to return the gaze._

"_Anyway," he continued, trying to get a reaction out of Alberto, "I've got to bask in the glory of my return." He quickened his pace toward the main passageway that led to the main arena floor. He turned once more, completely facing the older man, whom had fallen behind but was still seemingly sulking. "Who knows?" he said, throwing his arms out, walking backward. "There might be someone who appreciates my presence."_

Phil shook the vivid memory that took place during July of that year from his head. It was only now that he had realized the irony of what he had said months ago, especially since there was indeed someone who seemed to show much more interest in him. However, they'd only ever hung out just once and did nothing more than make out.

Of course, he wouldn't have been so quick to switch beaus if it weren't for the drama with Alberto. Unfortunately, the memories kept plaguing him. It was quite a shame that he worked with the guy, or else he was sure that he wouldn't be nearly this hung-up over the whole ordeal. What was worse, he was to face the man in a few hours in a Hell in a Cell cage match.

A light touch on his shoulder brought him back to present-time. He looked up from the lonely bench he sat on to meet the grinning face of Stephen, fresh from his match with Christian, whom he had quickly defeated.

"Waitin' on someone, are ya?" he asked, straddling the bench to sit next to Phil and face him at the same time.

"Yeah," the younger man replied. "The jerk was a no-show, but you'll do just fine." He chuckled at his own joke.

"O'course I will," Stephen responded, playing along. "The poor bastard couldn't stand a chance against me."

"I don't know," Phil smiled slyly. "He's the jealous type."

"An' I'm the type tha' doesn' give a damn." The older man leaned forward, inviting the other with his eyes to do the same. A rough, cloth-covered hand smoothed over his leg as the smaller figure leaned into him.

Unbeknownst to the couple, a pair of bright blue eyes narrowed in jealous anger at the sultry sight they had just fallen upon.

"Do you see that shit?" the voyeur, Mike Mizanin, hissed under his breath in utter disbelief. "Fucking asshole ditched me—a fucking god-for _that_?" He turned to his friend and wrestling partner, Ron Killings, as if he knew the reason why. "I fucking cried over that ginger fuck for days, you know?"

"But I thought he dumped you 'cause we got fired?" Ron asked.

"That's what he _says_," Mike grumbled, turning back to the couple. "But evidently, that's not what he _meant._"

"Look, man," Ron started quietly, his sight focused on his partner, "we have a job to do here first. " His partner's eyesight flicked in his direction, but quickly went back to watching the other two men. "How 'bout, instead of screwing up our plans, we add this to the list?"

A devious smile spread over Mike's lips, his blue eyes darkening and sliding back to look at his partner. "And what would be worse than their little secret getting out to not just the locker room, but the entire audience?" Reaching into his pocket, Mike pulled out his flip camera that he carried with him.

The man beside him mouthed "seriously" before turning his eyes to search the hallway. "Just hurry it up. We gotta get all our other shit done before being caught."

"Yeah, yeah," the younger answered, only paying half-attention to the older man. Mike's tongue swiped over his lips as he set the camera to record.

The time passed by in silence as Mike kept the slightly shaking camera focused on the two kissing men. A taped hand ran up the length of a pale arm, the fingers digging into the man's thick neck as Phil used the leverage to pull himself closer. Stephen's hands, which had remained quite stationary on the other man's hips, finally started roaming. The hand facing the camera ran up and under the white shirt as the other, slightly hidden hand, slid further down the man's thigh.

Not wanting his voice to be heard on the recording device, Ron reached over and took the camera from Mike and stopped the recording.

"What the fuck?" the younger man said, trying to snatch the device back.

"You got what you wanted," Ron replied, holding the camera up high. "Now we gotta get back to what we originally had planned!"

"Fine!" Mike spit out, grabbing the camera and tucking it away for future use.

The fired tag-team resumed their original plan of sneaking around the backstage area and hiding from the foot traffic that littered the hallways. Mike continued to mutter under his breath about the lying Irish man, not noticing that Ron was shaking his head and having to focus for both of them. The younger man had been forcefully pulled into darkened rooms and around corners as he wasn't paying the least bit attention to his partner's warnings. It was only when he was shoved against the wall, a strong arm pinned under his neck that Mike finally looked at the older man.

"Dude! You need to focus! If you don't we're gonna get busted and then you'll never get a chance to show your findings!" Ron bit out, his face inches from Mike's. "So what's it gonna be? We gonna turn 'round and leave before we get caught, or you gonna focus so we can get the payback we fucking deserve?"

The younger man looked down, before letting a pout take over his features. "I'll focus." When the arm pressed a bit more roughly against his throat, he groaned out, "I swear, dude." The pressure was lifted, and Ron moved away from him. "We just need a good place to hide until Kofi and Matt finish their match, right?" His partner nodded and Mike's features shifted to serious. "Let's do this!"

It was minutes before Phil's match against Alberto and John Cena. He was walking down the main corridor that led to the wrestler's entrance to the arena floor; the sounds of the enormous room ahead were muffled due to the walls, but the vibe of the hyped fans could easily be felt. He was full of nervous energy for the match despite Stephen's fervent, wordless, wish of luck just a short while ago.

Before him stood none-other than Alberto, Ricardo and John Cena, all of whom were speaking quietly amongst themselves. His footsteps had given his appearance away, and all three quickly quieted and faced his way; obviously they were talking about him, and he had an idea that it was about how late he was showing up.

"And where have you been hiding?" Alberto demanded, "No one's seen you this entire time until now."

Phil stopped his march for a brief moment; he should have known that someone would notice his absence. Still he was so sure that no one knew what he was doing, and more importantly, who he was with during the time frame. Reassured, he continued his walk.

"What's it to you?" he called as he walked. "Or any one of you three, for that matter?"

"Because you're supposed to be here," Cena interjected, folding his heavily-muscled arms across his shirted chest.

Phil merely stared at the red-shirted man then turned back to the Aristocrat. "Regardless of where I may or may not have been, I'm here now, and that's the only thing that matters, Alberto."

Said man sneered at the answer, not liking the non-answer he had just gotten. Cena glanced at both men, a confused look on his face, wondering where all the animosity had suddenly come from.

"That may be so," Alberto finally spoke while shooing Ricardo out towards the arena, "but I was coming to the conclusion that you were afraid to fight me."

The straight edger scoffed before turning his sight on John. "Can you believe this guy, John-boy? Me, afraid of him?" A bout of laughter escaped his throat.

"You're the one that hasn't been in the Cell, Alberto, so you might want to watch your mouth," Cena quipped as the man started to walk away.

A smug smirk tugged at Phil's lips as he contained his laughter. "Yes, Alberto," Phil attempted to roll the 'r' of the man's name, "you might want to watch your back out there because you'll not only have one but two opponents after you."

The sneer once again graced his features as he turned to look at the two men, a finger pointing at Phil. "Me aseguraré de que usted paga por su insolencia," Alberto spit out as he turned away from the two men.

Phil shrugged off the incomprehensible statement. "I've told him a million times I don't speak Spanish," he commented mostly to himself. His gaze shifted towards his other opponent before asking, "Do you know what he said?"

The other man shrugged. "Do I look like the kind of person who speaks a foreign language?" He said before the announcements started; the two men had to wait their turn to enter the ring.

Soon Phil's theme started playing, signaling that it was time for him to walk out. The roar of the audience mingled in with the song as he strutted forward and performed his trademark introduction. Alberto was already in the caged ring glaring at the man who had just stepped into the confines. They didn't speak—only continued to hold the fiercest glares-to each other as Cena was soon introduced.

Moments later, the bell sounded off, cueing the start of the mayhem that was soon to go down. Alberto proved to be most evasive of both Phil and John, which was a cause of annoyance. It was obvious who the Aristocrat's chosen victim was, as the attacks he made were mostly directed toward Phil.

The heavy brawling was taken to the floor; after both the straight-edger and Cena took turns pummeling the Aristocrat into the corner, Phil took it upon himself to start withdrawing chairs from under the ring, but because he was fighting two others his chances of actually using the weapons were lessened.

Alberto soon took control of the fight, throwing Cena bodily into the cage wall. Now he could take advantage of this moment to go one-on-one with Phil. Unfortunately for the Aristocrat, Phil had taken the opportunity while John was being assaulted by Alberto to recuperate himself and regain some of his energy.

He hit the older man with a few clotheslines and slams. While his opponent was down, he climbed to the top rope of the ring and leapt onto the weakened body. Suddenly, Cena returned, but Phil was quicker. A swift kick to the head and a slam got rid of his annoyance momentarily.

Suddenly noticing that Alberto was becoming the underdog of the match once again, Rodriguez unlocked the cell with the key that he had stolen from the key-keeper after knocking him out with a pipe. The lap dog attempted to assault Cena with the pipe he had in his hands, but was quickly and easily out-maneuvered. Cena assaulted Rodriguez, causing the man to fall to the floor and shuffling out of the cage.

As Phil lay in pain on a broken table that had been dragged out earlier, Alberto took advantage of Cena's distraction and hit John with the metal pipe that had been dropped. Finding the key, the Aristocrat took it into the cage, locking the door, and throwing the key under the mat. Afterwards, Alberto stormed over to where Phil lay and dragged him into the ring. Both men brawled heavily, using mostly kicks and holds until the Second City Savior threw Alberto out of the ring.

Unfortunately, Phil didn't notice that the other man had picked up the dropped pipe. The piece of metal connected with skull and sent him reeling back into the ring, giving Alberto time to jump into the ring and deal another blow to the side of his face. Disoriented, completely weakened and in pain, he fell to the floor, barely registering the weight of Alberto's body covering his and he was out with a three-count. Alberto thus became the WWE title-holder.

As the cage lifted, and as expected, Cena took the opportunity to assault Alberto from behind. To everyone's surprise, however, two hooded strangers invaded the ring before the cage was lowered once more. It didn't take long for Hunter, Laurinaitis, and the referee that had been knocked out by Ricardo. Hunter sent Laurinaitis and the ref backstage again to try to find someone to open the cage, and within minutes the other wrestlers came rushing out, Stephen at the front of the pack. As much as the other wrestlers tried to break through the metal barrier, all they could do was stare in shock and disbelief as the hooded figures, both revealed to be none-other than Mike and Ron themselves wreaked havoc on the referees , camera men, John, Phil and Alberto. Police arrived on the scene, shortly followed by a man rushing out with bolt cutters.

Thankfully, though not without much struggle, the locks on the cell were broken and the officers were allowed inside. Mike and Ron were already surrendering, on their knees with hands placed behind their heads. The police quickly and efficiently handcuffed them and began to escort them out of the cage. The other wrestlers who had been trying to push the cage in were now being held back by cops. Unfortunately there was one man who could not be contained: Hunter (Paul Levesque), C.O.O. of WWE. He quickly broke free of the hold he was under and attacked to the two men at once, never letting up on the assault until two of his own security men pulled him off.

**~P~**

Phil sat on the locker room's bench, rubbing his neck and attempting to massage and shake off the sore muscles. He was glad he wasn't alone with Alberto, being that Cena and quite a few other men were getting changed out their gear and getting ready to leave the arena, however when Stephen walked in Phil instantly wished the room were completely empty. Hazel eyes snapped from the pale-skinned man back to staring blankly in front of him. The Second City Savior pushed himself from the bench, still rubbing his neck and naked back as he faced the taller man.

"Let me grab a quick shower then we can head out. Okay?" Phil's voice was a little hoarse and tired sounding. He had almost forgotten that he and Stephen had driven to the venue together from the airport earlier that day.

"Alright, fella," Stephen answered as he sat down on the bench that Phil had just vacated. His blue eyes shifted a quick glance at the retreating backside of his driving partner.

It had come as a surprise when the straight edger had accepted his offer of meeting up to get a rental car together while they were in Louisiana. Unfortunately the only thing they had been able to do so far was talk—aside from the brief moment they had shared after his match. However, Stephen was quick to smile as the next thought that crossed his mind was that they would be sharing a room tonight, since their next destination was only a little over 2 hours away.

"What are you smiling at?" the thickly accented voice of Alberto cut through the air. "¿Crees que puedes robar mi puta?"

Stephen pushed himself off the bench at the word he recognized as meaning 'bitch'. "What was that, scumbag?" His head tilted slightly to the right, a menacing look crossing his face as his arms crossed over his chest.

"Ohhh." Alberto mocked being scared, his hands shaking in front of his chest. "Is that the best insult you can come up with?" He stepped a foot closer to the glaring man, a smile curving his lips up. "You think you can just take what's mine?" the man's voice lowered a notch, sounding a bit more threatening.

A confused look crossed the Irishman's face. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't taken anything from you as far as I know."

Their faces were only a few inches apart when Phil stepped back into the room. He walked over to the two silently feuding men, rolling his eyes as a hand held his towel around his waist. He continued to ignore them as he pulled his street clothes from the gym bag and dropped his towel. A hand ran through his loose hair, shoving the wet locks from his eyes as he started getting dressed.

Once he had his underwear on, he turned towards the two men who were standing behind him. "Do you need to take this out into the parking lot, boys?" The looks he received caused him to laugh. "Well," he started back up after pulling on his pants, "if that's the case, I'd love to stay and watch, but I'd much rather go to the hotel and at least get a nap in."

"You aren't going anywhere without me," Stephen grumbled irritably before reaching into his pocket, only to find that the keys were gone.

Phil jingled the keys that were now in his hands. "You thought, unfortunately I prefer not to stick around too long after the show. So," he sighed out, pulling his shirt over his head before directing his attention back towards Stephen, "if you'd like to ride in _your_ car, I suggest you wrap this up."

Upon hearing this, Alberto turned from the Celtic Warrior, stubbornly refusing to watch the man leave with who he considered rightfully his. The warrior, however, didn't leave just yet.

"Of course," Stephen said, leaning close so that only the aristocrat could hear him. "We're far from through with this." A satisfied smile spread across his face and he pulled back.

Alberto tensed up and wheeled around, ready to swing at the offender. However, both Phil and Stephen's retreating bodies were the only thing his eyes met. Seething in his anger, he had a strong feeling that something was up between the two of them. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have the slightest bit of evidence to confirm his suspicions.

Meanwhile, Stephen and Phil did not have to travel but a few blocks to get to the hotel that they and the other wrestlers were designated to stay in. The hotel wasn't anything particularly fancy, but was still rather nice. They headed directly for the elevator when they entered the building, being that they already had been given key-cards.

"Don't pay Alberto any attention," Phil said, breaking the silence as the two men stood side-by-side in the elevator. "He's really not worth arguing with; runs on a one-track mind, you see."

Stephen cast a side-ways glance at the shorter man. "I noticed," He said. "He told me that I stole somethin' from 'im."

The straight-edger laughed. "Perhaps you have," he said roguishly, eyeing the man next to him. The elevator stopped with a small lurch and the doors parted. They stepped out into the multi-door hall and walked onward.

Noticing the exuberant stares of the younger man, the warrior couldn't help the faint red stain that crossed the bridge of his nose, and his mouth went a little dry. "And what've I allegedly taken?" he asked, regaining his composure.

"Not what but who," Phil said, pointing to himself. "And you're looking at him." He stopped in front of a door finally smiling smugly at the ginger-haired man. "So what do you wanna do now that I am in your possession?" he continued in a mocking tone, trying to provoke a speechless Stephen. He felt empowered, and thought it wouldn't hurt to push his luck just a bit more. "After all, it's obvious you just take what you want. You truly do live up to your claim to be a king when in show, don't you?" He chuckled lightly at the final statement.

Blushing now an even deeper shade of red, his tolerance of being teased was waning. Still, he was confident that he very much could get some sort of payback for the insolence. "What do I wanna do, eh?" he asked, stroking his chin. "Well, how abou' _you_ start by invitin' me into your room." It was common for the wrestlers to bunk together when sharing a hotel complex, but Phil and Stephen happened to have separate rooms.

A devious smile etched across the shorter man's lips as he slipped the key-card into the door. "Of course," Phil said as he stepped over the threshold of the room, keeping the door open for Stephen to follow him in. Stepping into the darkened room—the only light coming from the street light outside of the open window on the far side of the room—Phil threw his bag to the side as he still awaited the Celtic Warrior's answer.

The door shut with a soft _click_ completely dousing the room in darkness, the straight edger turned around to find out what was wrong. A hand caught him underneath the chin, tilting his head upward as another pair of lips brushed teasingly against his.

"You're real funny," Stephen's voice had turned a bit gruffer. He pressed his lips to Phil's once more before pulling back again while still keeping a hold on the man's chin. "Clever little bastard you think you are."

The flecks of green in the shorter man's eyes stood out in the darkness that surrounded them in the tiny foyer. A smug smirk tugged at his lips before his tongue swept out quickly and nudged the lip ring. "There's no thinking to it," he answered a bit condescendingly as he straightened his back and leaned forward.

A hand fisted the material of Stephen's shirt, yanking him a bit closer to the smaller man, but it only provided a better angle to deepen the quickly intensifying kiss. Any left-over traces of nervousness that may or may not have been felt were pushed aside by the thrilling warmth of arousal.

Phil felt his back press against the wall, unaware that they had been moving in the first place. The intrusive tongue that circled his brushed curiously along the sphere of the metal barbell that he had pierced through his own tongue. The motion only made the exotic heat that had pooled in his core spread further.

He never would have thought that he would get himself in such a situation with one of the most least-likely people he worked with. Thankfully, though, Stephen was uncomplicated and quite secure with himself. This kind of confidence had to be one of his most attractive qualities, and made the straight-edger feel almost regretful that they hadn't hooked up sooner.

Lost in his own lustful fog, he barely registered his jeans and underwear falling around his feet with a soft _flump_. Completely exposed, he felt a hand brush against his length, causing him to involuntarily groan lowly from frustration. Removing his tightly-clenched hand from the shirt it still held, he placed it on top of the one Stephen was using to tease him with, wordlessly trying to communicate what he wanted from the older man. Awkwardly, without breaking contact, he stepped out of his trainers and fallen jeans.

The well-practiced hand tightened around Phil's arousal, thumb rotating around the moistening head. The trapped dark-haired man inhaled sharply at the mind-numbing feeling. His legs involuntarily parted further, making his standing position that much more awkward. He finally turned his head away from the bruising kiss, as his breathing became more labored.

His already sore muscles tensed with the ever-increasing sensation; his legs felt as if they were going to give way to his own weight, as well as Stephen's. His mouth hung open, drying its interior, and his chest heaved from the heavy intake and expulsion of air. He was only half aware of nonsensical words being muttered to him, but they still had some sort of an effect on him.

"Tá tú gar sin, nach bhfuil tú?" Stephen murmured over the younger man's low moan. He was quite confident in his own sexual prowess, but he did take quite a bit of satisfaction from knowing that _he_ was the one who had the Best in the World superstar pinned to the wall; _he_ was the one causing those delightful reactions and suggestive sounds with just a hand; honestly, he almost felt a little exclusive for being given the privilege. "Shíl mé riamh go mbeadh tú a bheith sásta amhlaidh," he continued, pressing his lips to the heated flesh of Phil's exposed neck, feeling the odd sensation of the man's quickened pulse.

Beads of sweat began to form along the younger man's brow-line from the strain of trying to hold back his release for as long as possible, as well as holding his tiring body upright against the pressures exerted upon him. The tension was building at an alarming rate, however, and with a heavy groan his body went into a spasm, amply spilling himself in and on Stephen's hand with the first pulse.

His body steadily relaxed with each satisfying wave. His ink-covered arms that hung limply around the Irish native's neck threatened to give way and let him drop. A hand snaking up his shirt and sliding up his smooth, hairless torso woke him from his daze. Mind still reeling, Phil looked into the needy, lust-clouded eyes of the older man.

"I can' take waitin' anymore," he whispered in his accented voice, causing a stir in the pit of the younger's stomach. Pushing his hand further up the shirt, aiming to coax its owner into removing it, but a shadowy shift in the chink of light coming from the door beside them caused a distraction.

Phil followed the taller man's gaze and noticed the shadow as well. It looked suspiciously like someone standing outside of the door. "Maybe we should take this to the bed instead of in the doorway," he suggested quietly.

"Or beat the crap outta the pervert tryin' to listen in," Stephen muttered, dropping down to look below the door.

"Yes, because what's creepier than getting beat up by a guy with a raging hard-on?"

The Celtic Warrior stifled a chuckle as he spied through the space under the door. A pair of trainer-shod feet shuffled a bit before walking away. Being that shoes were the last thing he noticed about a person, Stephen couldn't recognize who the feet belonged to.

He stood up and shrugged. "I s'ppose it doesn' matter, anyway…" His eyes scanned over Phil's heavily-shadowed form. The shirt that hadn't been removed only just covered the nakedness below, and the very thought of getting the shorter man worked up again made himself stir. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them once more.

Entwined in each other's arms, they blindly shuffled further in the room. Phil fumbled clumsily with the button of Stephen's denims before tugging them downward, taking care to smooth his hands over the exquisite curve of the Irish-native's backside. Once the jeans fell, he felt the larger man's body stumble backward dangerously, the back of Stephen's legs thankfully hitting the mattress. With the weight of both bodies, they fell awkwardly onto the edge of the bed.

"Makes this a whole lot easier," the younger man breathed, pushing against the older's chest so as to raise himself up. He grabbed the hem of his own shirt and lifted it over his head, now becoming fully nude. He caught the pair of blue eyes raking over his exposed body and smiled smugly.

Aware of his dominant position, he bent down once more to capture Stephen's mouth in another furious kiss. Broad hands slid down his back as he used his own to push the man's shirt up. Phil could feel the arousal of the man underneath him pressing urgently against him and he automatically dug his hips forward in return.

Stephen gave a muffled groan from the frustrating pressure, making his need nearly unbearable. He placed a hand on the back of Phil's head, pushing the man downward. He slid backward, so that his legs weren't dangling off of the edge of the bed, which only made the straight-edger's job easier.

Pierced lips brushed against ivory flesh, his hot breath fanning over the even skin. His tongue flicked over the space right between the abdominal muscles and around the navel, darting in. Insolently, he looked upward at the man he was teasing, smiling roguishly at the heavily-flushed face, which was illuminated by the bit of light from the window. The thrill of being in control sent a rush through him; he wanted to continue torturing the Celtic Warrior, make him wait, but he was certain that the consequences of his actions would be most severe.

"Keep up with this little game o'yours…" Stephen threatened, not in the least having the grace to tone down the harshness.

Phil's suspicion was justified. "Or what?" came the smarmy reply. Phil traced his fingertips lightly over the moistening length; it throbbed at the touch. His tongue flicked over the tip, tasting salt; he noticed the warrior's hands clench tightly at the covers on either side of him.

The warm mouth engulfed him and Stephen allowed his eyes to shut and his body to ease its tension. His hips pushed upward, filling the mouth and increasing the friction. He particularly loved the way the tongue ring felt against him; the sensation was almost too much. His hand left the sheet it clenched to dig into Phil's dark tresses and he allowed a heavy moan to escape his throat.

Almost as fast as it started, the incredible feeling ceased. Stephen involuntarily let out a noise of displeasure and glared at the man below. "Y'didn't have to stop!" he nearly whined.

"I'm not done fucking with you," Phil responded, now using his hand in place of his mouth. He propped his elbow against the mattress and cupped his head in his hand, staring challengingly at the frustrated man, yet smiling innocently.

Having had enough of the playing around, Stephen quickly rolled and pinned the Best in the World superstar underneath him. He forced the smaller man's legs open roughly with his own knees and used his own wetness as a lubricant. He smiled down wolfishly only to be met with that same insolent stare, daring him to take their fun _that_ far.

And he did. He pushed himself inside; feeling nails digging into his back. He saw that the pain was quite evident on Phil's face and indignant grunts and groans were heard with every thrust. Tattooed hands slid down his back, pressing into perfect back muscles until they once again skimmed across his ample rear.

Phil's hands grabbed the flesh roughly, as if trying to return the pain being driven so mercilessly into him. All the while, Stephen had no shame in expressing his pleasure. He could feel the bristles of the older man's facial hair against his heated skin as the face was buried into his neck, muffling the lusty sounds as the thrusting intensified.

Incomprehensible words and grunts filled the room as both men enjoyed the pleasurable feelings washing through their bodies. The soreness and tightness of their muscles had long ago been forgotten until the euphoria of their activities ended, letting the tiring events of the day take over. Two muscled, sweaty bodies panted heavily in an attempt to right their breathing and find the will to move.

Stephen finally pushed himself up and away from the man underneath him, one arm landing over his forehead as the other landed across his stomach. Fingertips brushed the other man's side, making the man groan. "Are Y'alright?"

A low rumble of laughter was heard before Phil answered, "Tired, little sore, but at least I'll be able to sleep well. You?" His head turned in the direction of the other man, knowing that that was about the extent of his ability to move.

"What do _you _think?" the Irishman asked, giving a crooked sort of grin, "Do y'have any sort of plans for tomorrow before we have to leave for the next city?"

The straight-edger remained stationary, his eyes watching Stephen. "None than I can think of. What about you?" A shake of the head was his answer, "I guess might just get to sleep in, then, won't we?" He sounded rather happy about this bit of news; however Stephen wasn't quite as excited about having a lie-in. Still, with all that extra time, perhaps more carnal knowledge of each other could be learned.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Translations (in order of appearance):**  
>*Espere un segundo - <strong>Wait a second<strong>  
>*Me aseguraré de que usted paga por su insolencia - <strong>I'll make you pay for your insolence<strong>  
>*Crees que puedes robar mi puta - <strong>You think you can steal my bitch<strong>  
>*Tá tú gar sin, nach bhfuil tú - <strong>You're so close, aren't you<strong>  
>*Shíl mé riamh go mbeadh tú a bheith sásta amhlaidh - <strong>I can't believe you're so willing to submit<strong>


End file.
